


Hot for Teacher

by mohadera



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dom/sub Undertones, Dream Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Orgasm Delay, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Teacher-Student Relationship, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-12-26 15:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12062241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mohadera/pseuds/mohadera
Summary: Reader is Xavier's student. You shouldn't. You do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> not the smuttiest, but we'll see if I add another chapter... also, I'd like to apologize to any hardcore x-men fans because I basically just made stuff up about Xaviers' telepathy and the institute

Charles was on his way past the library when he stubbed his toe. Thankfully for his ego, the hall was empty—classes were over and it was a beautiful day, so most students and teachers were enjoying the outdoors or taking advantage of the basement training facility—and no one heard the muffled curse he let out as the pain blossomed, and the gasp that followed immediately after as images took over his mind.

 

_He stood in the corner of a single occupancy room in the East Wing, or so he gleaned from the view out of the apparently third story window. It was night and the room was lit with candles lining every available flat surface. Clothes were strewn over the floor leading to the bed…_

 

_Charles gasped again. He saw an image of himself naked on the bed holding a young woman whose face he couldn’t see from this angle. The anonymous girl was lying on her front with the image-Charles draped on top of her, his chest to her back, nipping at bits of her exposed neck, seemingly whispering into her ear between bites. Charles heard the grunts of his image-self as he thrust up into the woman—but how could he care about his own image’s sounds when she was making such delicious ones of her own? Little mewls and moans fell from her lips and Charles found himself jealous…of himself, confusingly, but the not-real self, for being able to coax them out of her. Charles started to walk around to the other side of the bed to identify the woman who was, presumably, the individual fantasizing about fucking him, but the image changed before he had a chance._

 

_Now, the woman was riding his double as his image-self scattered hickeys across her chest. She moaned when his image took her nipple into his mouth and cried his name when his thumb found her clit and started making rough circles._

 

_“Don’t cum yet, darling, not until I say so,” he heard his voice say._

 

“Please, _Professor,” she whined, and Charles could almost recognize her voice. God, he needed to know who this was, he needed to be the one under her, inside her, fucking her until she screamed…_

 

 **STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM**. The woman’s first fully conscious, intentional thought boomed through Charles’ head and he shook himself free from her mind like one coming out of a dream. Had he really just intruded on someone’s most private fantasy, and had he really _enjoyed_ it? Adjusting his trousers shamefully, he admitted to himself that he had. But it wasn’t just someone, just anyone—no, because he had seen her face just before breaking out of his trance, and he knew her. It was someone he admired already, someone he was trying very hard already not to think of in that context. 

 

 _Christ_ , he thought, walking away quickly, _why does it have to be one of my fucking students?_

 

 

***

 

Professor Charles Xavier was your favorite teacher, and you were embarrassed to admit that you had an enormous crush on him. He was brilliant and kind and gorgeous and it was getting harder and harder for you to sit through class with him without letting your mind…wander. You had never been attracted to a telepath before, so you were new to the daily please-God-please-let-me-think-about-anything-else-but-him stress, but you thought you did a pretty good job, considering. Whenever you started to think about his hands on you or how soft his lips looked in class, you’d start to list prime numbers until your thoughts were redirected. You let yourself fantasize only at very specific times and locations, like when you knew he was training students in the basement or in Cerebro or not on the property. You expected that if he were occupied or far enough away, your thoughts would just mingle in with those of all the other horny teenagers he lived with.

 

You started to think you would get away with it, too, until one day after class, he asked to speak with you in his office. Alone. You were both silent as you followed him there, and all you could think about was how you would tell your parents you had been expelled from your fancy, if mysterious, private boarding school. You were so preoccupied dreading the worst that you didn’t even blush when he held the door open for you like a true gentleman, only shuffled inside without a sound and stared at the floor. He sat behind his desk with his eyes on your face.

 

“You’re a bright student, Ms. L/N, and a powerful mutant. It’s been… a pleasure to have you in class, but I believe—“

 

“Please, Professor,” you stammered, “Don’t expel me. I promise I’ll—“

 

“I’m not going to expel you, Y/N,” he replied, surprised, “I think you should move to a different class.”

 

“A different class?” you asked. _Does he know how I feel about him or not?_

 

“Yes, I believe another instructor might better suit you.” 

 

“Oh. I understand, Sir.” You were relieved that you weren’t in trouble, but you couldn’t get rid of that queasy feeling in your stomach or the voice in the back of your head that asked, _Why? Does he not like me?_

 

“No, I like you—very much, actually,” he said. You froze.

 

“Are you…reading my mind, right now?”

 

He blanched, spluttering, “I—I didn’t mean to, truly I didn’t—“

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be perfectly in control of your powers? You promised to respect our ‘mental privacy.’”

 

“Yes, of course, but it’s not always so simple. I can usually keep the voices to a dull roar but there are certain…triggers that inhibit my ability to…inhibit my ability.”

 

You blinked and waited for an explanation.

 

“My control is far from perfect. I rarely _want_ to hear someone’s thoughts, but when certain things happen, like if I experience pain unexpectedly or feel strong emotions, the thoughts of those nearest are amplified. It was an accident, I swear.”

 

“So which was it?” you asked.

 

“Pardon me?”

 

“Pain or emotions?”

 

“Oh. Uh, emotions,” he coughed and looked uncomfortable.

 

“Which emotion? If I may ask,” you added quickly, hoping you hadn’t overstepped your bounds.

 

The Professor ran his hand through his hair. “Shame.”

 

“Why were you…ashamed?”

 

“ _Christ,_ ” he muttered quietly. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Because I am your teacher, Y/N, and your headmaster. You trust me, or at least, I hope you do. I don’t want to take advantage of that trust.” He looked up at you. “And you’re so _young_.”

 

“I’m almost 19, Professor. Had I stayed in school at home, I would have graduated awhile ago. Now, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I don’t like being spoken to like I’m a child. I’m a legal adult, _and_ a mutant—you should know as well as anyone how dealing with that forces one to grow up. So, _please,_ Professor—“

 

“You’re right, Y/N. You’re not a child. I was ashamed because I want to fuck you.”

 

“ _Oh._ ”

 

Emboldened by your reaction and frustrated by the opaque nature of the conversation thus far, he continued, “When you called me _sir_ , all I wanted to do was bury my face between your legs and reward you for being such a good girl. And then I wanted to bend you over my desk and fuck you until you were begging to cum. But It’s wrong for me to want those things. Do you see?”

 

You felt like all the breath had left your body. “Yes. I see.” You took a step towards him and hesitated for a split second before adding, “ _Sir._ ”

 

The growl he let out was so out of character for the clean cut Professor that you almost worried Hank had stumbled in. He was out from behind the desk in an instant, turning you around and pushing you backward until he lifted you to sit on the desk. His lips met yours.

 

 _Good girl_.

 

You gasped. He’d been inside your mind, speaking to you.

 

He pulled back slightly and met your gaze, concern etched into his features. “Sorry—this is making it…difficult for me to focus on staying out of your head, but I can—“

 

“No,” you replied. You leaned forward and nipped at his bottom lip, your hands coming to rest on the sides of his face. “I like it.”

 

In an unexpectedly tender gesture, he brought his fingers up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I have to admit before this goes any further that I heard your thoughts about me the other day. I believe you were in the library while I was walking past, and, well, I just happened to stub my toe—“

 

“Pain,” you whispered.

 

“Exactly. I saw us. What you wanted for us. And, I must admit,” he added, chuckling, “it was a compelling proposal. But if that was just something you were thinkingabout, if you don’t really want it, or if you want something different from me, I understand, and I think we should discuss this before we—.”

 

“No!” The Professor started and you flushed. “Not no, not to the discussion—I mean, I do want…you. Oh, this is so much. Can’t you just…read my thoughts?”

 

“Is that permission?” You nodded and tried to focus on everything you felt at the moment.

 

After a beat, he laughed and said, “Well, I think we’re on the same page there.  Because as much as I want to touch you,” here he caressed the inside of your knee, causing you to sigh, “I also want to take care of you.”

 

 _And I want you to be_ ** _mine_** , he continued in your thoughts.

 

 _“Yours,”_ you whispered as his lips met yours again.

 

Just as his hand began to creep up your thigh, a knock at the door disrupted the two of you.

 

“Professor?” Hank’s voice sounded from the hallway, “I found something I think you’ll want to see.”

 

“One moment,” responded Charles, rolling his eyes at you. You giggled silently. He moved from between your legs and lifted you back to standing. You smoothed out your skirt.

 

He whispered in your mind, _I want you in my room tonight. Midnight. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding your way unseen._ You nodded your assent and began to walk towards the door, hoping against hope that Hank wouldn’t be able to tell what you and Charles had been doing.

 

“Ah—and Ms. L/N,” Charles called out, startling you as you reached for the doorknob.

 

“Yes, Professor?”

 

“I think you’re forgetting something.” You looked at him, confused, but he just stepped towards you and snuck his hand under your skirt before grabbing the waist line of your panties. _These. Off. Now._ He pulled the scrap of fabric down your thighs and helped you to step out of it. He walked back to his desk and stuffed your (soaked) underwear in one of the drawers. He continued, “You probably have somewhere to be. Better get on your way.” _Better keep your legs closed, or everyone will see how wet I make you._

 

“Yes, Professor,” you squeaked as you opened the door and left, blushing furiously and refusing to make eye contact with Hank.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for the comments and kudos! I started writing this fic just for me, but I'm glad other people like it too :) anyway, here's the very belated next chapter

You were especially grateful for your invisibility mutation as you crept down the hall towards Charles’ room later that night.

 

You walked in to find him sitting in a chair on the far side of the room. He was fully dressed, his hands folded casually in his lap, looking for all the world like a teacher getting ready to lecture a student (which was sort of the case, you reminded yourself). The soft glow of a nearby lamp enveloped his features in warmth.

 

“I believe, before we… begin, it is customary to… talk about our comfort levels,” he stated calmly. You nodded, although you’d been in such a state of neediness ever since you left his office that now, with his being right in front of you, you could hardly concentrate. He smiled briefly at your accidental revelation and continued, “I’d like you to call me ‘Professor’ or ‘Sir’ when we are…engaging physically. When we are simply together—and alone—you may call me Charles. Are you comfortable with this?” You nodded again. “Wonderful. Next, would you feel comfortable being…punished?” For the third time, you nodded, letting out a small whimper—if you hadn’t been so focused on the ache between your legs, you probably would have been embarrassed at how enthusiastically you bobbed your head. “Is there anything you would like to add or address?”

 

“I don’t think so, Sir.” Charles smiled.

 

“Good,” he said after a moment. “Come here.” You did as you were told, coming to a stop a few inches from his armchair. “Now, now, Y/N—we must be totally comfortable with one another. Closer.” You stepped forward again and started as his hands grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you onto his lap, one bare leg on either side of him. “Is this alright?” he whispered confidentially into your ear; when you nodded, he pressed a small kiss to your jaw. Unable to hold back any longer, you touched his face with your fingertips and leaned in. Though the resultant brush of lips was brief and teasing—where he found the control to pull away, you would never know—your chest thrummed with the realization that _you were here,_ and _wanted_.

 

“Greedy girl, aren’t you?” he breathed, his breath dissipating over your lips and the tongue that emerged from between them, chasing the taste of him. “Mmm?”

 

“I’m sorry, Professor. I couldn’t help myself.”

 

“Well, I suppose we must work on your patience. We have far too much time to waste any, love.” His thumb found the apple of your cheek. “Now get on the bed.”

 

Reluctantly, you removed yourself from his lap and walked backwards until you felt the back of your knees hit mattress. You turned for a moment before blushing, suddenly unsure.

 

“How—How do you want me, Sir?” you asked, an uninvited tremor sneaking into your voice.

 

“Just lie down, darling. Get comfortable.”

 

You did as he asked, resting your head on a downy pillow and attempting to relax your limbs from the anticipatory rigidity that had plagued you for hours. Your lips parted naturally as you closed your eyes. You felt a weight on the bed next to you, and, opening your eyes, found Charles at your side, his gaze running over your body with an as-yet-unseen hunger that thrilled you. Although you were still dressed (excepting your underwear, which Charles didn’t seem to want to give back anytime soon), the intensity of his focus on your form left you feeling naked. You suppressed the urge to squirm and felt yourself clench around nothing instead.

 

_I can feel your desire, you know. I sense it. I’ve sensed you all day._

 

“How?”

 

_People think at different…volumes, I suppose. And your thoughts…all those fantasies, all the moments you wanted to touch yourself but forced yourself to wait…You were screaming, you needy thing._

 

You smiled as innocently as you could. “Not yet, Sir.” He touched three of his fingers to your clavicle and pressed lightly.

 

“Cheeky,” he warned out loud, though his eyes were warm, “Do you know how much willpower it took not to go after you, not to just fuck you where you stood, where anyone could see?” His pinky dipped down beneath the edge of your bra and traced a crescent, its nail _almost_ reaching the skin of your nipple. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound. “I could practically _feel_ the slick on your thighs. But, I was patient; now, you will be too.”

 

 _Take your top off,_ he cooed inside your head. Obliging him, you were rewarded with a breathy “lovely” and a glimpse of his tongue swiping his bottom lip _._

 

“If I didn’t know better, Professor, I’d suspect you were going to eat me up.”

 

“I think you’ll find my hunger is of a different nature, sweet girl.” _But make no mistake: I_ ** _am_** _hungry._

 

You couldn’t imagine that he could possibly want you more than you did him, that _anyone_ could want someone more than you did him at that moment. If he was hungry, you were starving.

 

And then he touched you.

 

If you closed your eyes, you could almost mistake the ghosting of his fingertips over your skin for a breeze, or a whisper—his touch was feather-light and not more full of awe than his eyes, which widened as he explored the hills and valleys of your anatomy. Bewitched by his caresses and his gaze, you felt yourself turn to tissue paper beside him. With one touch he could rip you to pieces or crumple you past recognition; yet it was elation, not fear, that filled you. You knew, with a surprising degree of certainty, that he wouldn’t hurt you. That he _couldn’t_ hurt you. His touch turned the tissue first to glass, then to porcelain, until you burned joyfully and steadily, as all new things must.

 

With charged fingers, he electrified every inch of you, fed the lightning that was quick growing inside, but never _quite_ touched where you needed him most. He hadn’t yet asked you to remove your bra, so the sensation on your breasts as he coasted his palms across the covered peaks was all the fainter, all the more tantalizing. You lay there, half-dressed and trembling, until— _fuck_ , was that his _breath_ hot on your neck? Eyes open, and there he was, studying your skin, his lips hovering just above.

 

You heard his voice— _“Beautiful”_ —but you couldn’t tell if he had said it out loud or in your head.

 

“ _Please_ , Sir,” you sobbed, finally allowing your thighs to rub against each other. “Please, I’m… It’s too hot, I can’t—can’t breath.”

 

In an instant, he had you in his arms across his lap, one soothing hand coming up to pet your hair, the other tilting your face towards his.

 

“Are you alright, Y/N?” he asked, and the sincere concern in his voice left you speechless for a moment.

 

“Y-Yes, Professor—“

 

“Charles, love. Call me Charles.”

 

“—Charles, I just felt…so _much_ , and I couldn’t tell how long you touched me for, and I didn’t feel like myself, I felt—I felt _outside_ myself.”

 

“I’m glad you stopped me, Y/N; I would never want to force you to do something you don’t like.”

 

“N-no!” you cried, then bit your lip to stop yourself saying anything else. He brought his face closer to yours, his eyes probing for an answer.

 

“Or,” he began, with a kind smile, “you did like it. Too much. And it scared you.” You opened your mouth, but he interrupted, “No, darling, I didn’t have to read your mind to know that.”

 

“I tried to be patient for you.”

 

“I know, sweet girl, and you did so well. You were perfect. I should have known not to overwhelm you, but I was overwhelmed myself, finally having you in my bed. I wanted to explore you, to learn all of your secrets.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. “That is to say, I’m sorry, love. All that can wait. I want to make you feel _comfort_ as well as pleasure. The latter without the former is a frightening thing.”

 

“Can you—will you—kiss me, Charles?”

 

His face lit up. “I thought you would never ask.”

 

***

 

He kissed you until you stopped trembling, until you started grinding down on his lap and begging him to touch you. He kissed you as he finished undressing you and as he began to remove his own garments, as he laid you back down on the bed, as he slipped his hand between your legs and found the place that made you sob again, though this time with relief. He kissed you with two fingers inside you and one on your clit. He kissed you as you came, and then he kissed you somewhere else and made you cum again.

 

He did not kiss you when he entered you, only watched your face go from discomfort to bliss as you grew accustomed to his size. When you told him to start moving, he laughed and began to use his mouth for other things: for telling you how beautiful you looked, for example, and how well you took him, or for sprinkling your nose and eyes and cheeks with little kisses that, even though his cock was literally inside you, still made you blush. After you came a third time, moaning his name and fluttering around him, he used his mouth to ask if you thought you could take another orgasm. When you told him you were too sensitive, he obliged you and spilled into the condom within moments. You felt empty when he left to get you a glass of water, and the sensation made you crave him again, but you were so sleepy and blissed out that you couldn’t find the words to articulate your desire. And anyway, you soon discovered you loved nothing more than to rest your head on his bare chest and breathe in his scent, his hand in your hair, stroking it even as you drifted off to sleep.


End file.
